Yu-Gi-Oh: Unexpected Powers
by NightFall00
Summary: Duel Academy isn't the only place catering to students of dueling, and one in Hokkaido is about to get a very interesting surprise. After the principal finds a young boy collapsed outside the doors, he finds himself with the chance to create a team of the best duelists ever, but with people as different as them, is it a lost cause, or the start of something amazing? OCs accepted.


Hey, everyone, NightFall back with a new story, and hopefully this will be as successful as my other ones, but since I stepped out of my comfort zone of pokémon, I know it's going to take some more time to get myself more well established in the Yu-Gi-Oh scene, and I have done that somewhat with my newest story in the Yu-Gi-Oh GX section of this site, but I thought I might try something incredibly different, and go into another section entirely, granted it's not that far off, but I digress. As with all of my stories, this one is going to be OC submissions, and the form will be on my profile. For those of you who are reading this and also have subscribed to my other Yu-Gi-Oh story, and already know my processes, I'm not planning on getting rid of that story since I've already got three chapters on it, I just wanted this concept to be out here. Essentially, this is going to be my own Yu-Gi-Oh concept without making references to past series, and with luck it'll all work out and be relatively successful.

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN YU-GI-OH, JUST THIS STORY AND MY CHARACTERS.**

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Prologue: Found in the Night

How often is it that we find things when and where we least expect? A concept many people can understand is that things that are the hardest to find are often hidden in plain sight; there's nothing special about them, there's no grand mystery, no feeling of incredible power around them. They are just there, but as people we are too blind to see what it is right in front of us. A wise man once said that thinking too much will cause you to stop thinking, and by making things too complex for everyone, even ourselves, we make them impossible. The wise man is not the one who constantly dwells on things, and strives to win no matter what; the wise man is the one who is able to say that there is a time to give up when all hope is lost. However, by that point, the wise man is barely alive, because he would have searched high and low, looking for every possible outcome, every possible idea, and every possible concept before he would give up and accept reality. Nobody ever said that life was going to be a fair thing, and it takes the truly wise man to accept that life is not fair, and yet still strives to understand it.

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Tales of the duelist are often shrouded in the mystery of time, dating back far into ancient Egypt more than five thousand years ago where games of life and death were decided by pharaohs, priests, bandits, and warlords. Magic was a very real, and very potent reality in that time, and as it passed like all things must, it was forgotten, and these games of life and death, fought in shadow were all but lost in antiquity. However, no matter when, no matter where, and no matter to whom things happened, shadow would never be that far behind. Shadow is not evil, and light is not justice; they are merely sides of a coin. Everything in life has opposites, but neither light nor shadow, nor day nor night can be called that same absolute as good and evil.

In those times when evil sprang up from the ground, fell from the skies, invaded from time into our own, or came from another space, there was always one thing that people could've counted on, and it was the very thing that started all it all; magic. As wizards, magic is cast, and monsters are summoned; traps are set, and unions are formed. From Egypt to Rome, from China to Japan, from England to the Americas, there would always be magic that followed, that met, and that saved or destroyed. People called it divine intervention, the natural flow of things, or something that was merely advanced science, but no matter what it was called, those select few, those truly powerful and wise men and women, knew it as the magic of a the duel.

The duel was fought many times in history, blanketed by its own choices to stay within the shadows: the shadows they fought within, for, or against. The controllers of shadow were the testers, and those that fought against them were the ones who were tested. They fought on equal ground to begin, but the shadow would always have the advantage. The shadow was ever-present in our world, and it was casted as both a barrier and a weapon. It was a shield against too much light, and maintained that balance in the world. People often wonder why war and famine is so abundant, and it is of no fault of any one man, it is merely the world staying within its equilibrium, not tilting the scale to any one side, lest the world be thrown into madness, no matter which side came out on top.

The duel was no more than the battle to maintain that balance and equilibrium. Light would duel shadow, and shadow would duel light. Destruction of one would cause the scale to tilt, but in destruction there is its own opposite of rebirth; to recreate. Light would be born out of its own death, and shadow would revive after being cast down into its place. In a world that changes, though, the duel, like so many things we have from the ancient world, remained unchanged.

The duel was fought with the simplest of forms, and the most docile of containers: the card. The card has existed for many millennia, and has been the symbol of the duel, of the gamble for life and death. The card stored great magic, deadly traps, and fantastic monsters, all used together in order to show the strength of the mage that would summon each power within their cards. In the days of magic, they were the most feared, loved, and respected of all people, and it was these people that would rise up to lead their people as kings, monarchs, warlords, and emperors, all with the power to destroy the world, but would use it as a shield, not a sword.

Even today, these people exist, but they are not seen as what they once were, and the magic they were said to use is no longer believed in. Those that believe in such a fairy tale are nothing more than the people shunned by society, have no influence on other people, but these people also hold that great wisdom to make a great leader if only there were those who could look at them. The duel is no longer that trial of life and death; it is nothing more than a game that other people have taken credit for, and in the end, they were taken over by that power, and yet, there is always hope against evil and against the unbalance; the duelist.

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When this happened, I was far past my days as a duelist, and now could only watch as other people attempted to fulfill the dream that I once dreamed; a dream where I had risen above others, and showed that I was the more powerful person. I found it both heartening and discouraging at the same time, knowing that there were people who could achieve the same dream as me, but that it would be their dreams, and no longer mine. I am old and brittle now, but I know that there is a place for everyone who still walks this earth. So what if I'm a cook who believes in the magic that the card carries within? So what if I believe in a power that others cannot fathom with their minds alone? So what if I have faith that if there were ever a day when the world would become shrouded in darkness, a hero would rise up, and take his place among the greatest duelists in the world. The thing is, sometimes you don't know where to find the heroes; they could man or woman, old or young, strong or feeble, fast or slow, smart or dimwitted, expected or surprising, all I knew was that they would come when we needed them.

In my old age, there are many things that I have lost, and soon it would be my voice, but I knew that as long as I was alive, I would still be able to watch over the few people who came to my school, and not that floating disgrace in the Pacific. Nobody is treated unfairly because of their age or grade; I couldn't care any less about something as superficial as that. For me, no matter how much the other teachers disagreed, it was all about the duel. Test scores, money, connections, what did they matter to an old man if they couldn't win once in a while. It's why my school is compared so often with that other one; a school about duels and a school about tests. In the end, though, we both would come to the conclusion that it would always be about the duel. My school has one other thing, though, but it's not something I'm allowed to speak of.

At my age, and with my beliefs, you tend to think you've seen everything, but not even my memory, as decrepit as it was, could think of a single time that what happened that night had ever happened in the past.

It was nearing the end of November, and the snow was already falling as it always did here, far past time that anyone should have been awake, and yet I knew there was movement outside of my window. If there was anything I was going to be thankful for in my time overseeing this institution, it would've been the view, and especially that night when it would give me the greatest gift that I could have imagined.

I don't know when he got there, how long he had been there, or why he was even there, all I knew was_ that_ he was there. From where I stood up to the window, I could see him in a small ball, trying to keep whatever warmth in his body was left, but as I looked at him, I knew he wouldn't last long. Quickly grabbing my walking stick, I began thrashing against the wall, almost causing a crack in either of the two. After that, I could hear the soft sound of movement from the inside, so I left the wall and grabbed my coat.

I ventured out of my office, the walking stick clacking against the ground with ever step I took, the door to my right opening up with a rather disgruntled young woman in the doorway. As she adjusted her wide, circular glasses, she looked at me with a disheveled appearance, almost making me sorry that I tried knocking. We were never on the best terms, but at the moment, we weren't what mattered. I didn't explain; instead, I just led her outside as she wrapped a scarf around her neck, trying to comb out her long black hair as she walked groggily behind me.

By the time I finally reached the first floor of that infernal building, it'd been at least five minutes since I saw the boy. And with the night progressing and the snow continuing, I knew there wasn't going to be much time left. The other teacher finally made it down, asking me what I was doing so late at night as I turned to her, and kicked the door open with my good leg, at which point, her yawn instantly ceased as she stared at the open doorway in shock. The boy was still in the same position, curled into a ball to conserve heat, but it was obvious he was shivering, barely able to contain what little comfort he could manage. Instantly running towards him, the female teacher took off her coat, and wrapped it around his small body, do her best to carry him inside, eventually needing me for help.

* * *

By the time we had him placed in the bed in the nearby infirmary, his breathing pace had lessened, thankfully out of comfort, not out of decline of will to live. The nurse in the building, none too pleased with her wake-up call, finished looking over him, opening his eyes to make sure he was still responsive, checking his temperature, and obviously finding a fever. She informed us it would be best to leave him here for the night, to which I immediately agreed; my coworker didn't see it on the same level as we did.

"Sir, do you think it's smart to allow him to come in for the night like this?" she asked as I leaned over on the top of my walking stick, looking down at the small patient, barely listening to her brazen opinions. "Don't you think his parents are worried sick?"

"If they're even in the area," I responded. "It's easy to tell he's not from Hokkaido," I said, opening his eye just as the nurse had done before. "Grey eyes are indicative of northern and eastern European countries. Besides, it's obvious he's not Japanese already. The closest European nation to us is Russia, so it's possible he may have sailed here, or he was sent to an embassy. If we want to find out where he comes from, we'll call the embassy first thing in the morning, but as far as I'm concerned, he's welcome to stay."

"I can understand making sure he doesn't freeze to death," the teacher replied. "But if he is a Russian national, do you think that a school as small as ours could handle a political issue like that?" she asked as I closed the boy's eyes, the eyelid instantly shutting.

"At my age, you tend not to care about the details," I said, standing up, looking over the boy to make sure everything about him was all right. "Besides, even if he is Russian, it doesn't mean he's immune to the cold. He looks about fourteen in my opinion, and in my opinion, it's been several days since he had a decent meal. If you're going to tell me that our reputation is better than his well-being, then you can start looking for another job."

"Never said that," she answered. "I just want you to be aware of the risks in this kind of venture, especially since it involves such a young person. If you are right about him being fourteen, than legally speaking, he won't be able to stay here as a student, and it would be very temporary."

"Rules were made to be broken," I responded. "Based on the answers he gives me when he wakes up, I'll consider letting him stay on as a permanent guest until such time he decides to leave. Of course, we'll have to follow protocol in letting him stay here as with any of our residents," I said, the teacher just watching me in disbelief at how accepting I was being.

"I don't think you can rationalize putting him under the same test that the rest of our students have completed," she said as I turned to face her. "We're not even sure he can duel."

Instead of answering, I reached down, and found his duffel bag with the tip of my cane, holding it up by the strap, and tossing it to her. It wasn't heavy, which would explain why this boy wasn't getting too much to eat, but there was a distinct feeling from the inside of his bag. I waited for her to search through the bag, watching her take out the different items; an empty bottle of water, a passport, which I grabbed almost instantly as she rummaged through the rest of the bag. In the open page of the passport I found a picture of the boy, slightly baffled by his expression, and then looked at his name. My suspicions of him being Russian were confirmed by the use of Cyrillic text to write out almost everything in the information. I couldn't read any of it, so we'd have to wait for him to wake up. All I wanted to know was how to say his name; "Заша."

As my coworker finished searching his bag, I found a defeated smile on her face as she placed a small brown, leather case on the table in front of me. It was held shut with a belt loop, an antiquated design, but at my age, you learn to appreciate the little things. As I placed the passport down where his deck box was, I saw the teacher flip it around so it was facing her.

"Can you read that?" I asked.

"Only how to pronounce everything," she answered. "I never completed any of my foreign language courses in college. His name is pronounced 'Zasha.' And I think his last name is Ivankov," she said as we both looked down at him. "So what do you think of his deck?"

"It's interesting to say the least," I said, passing it off to her as Zasha's breathing was much calmer and easier, meaning he was beginning to find comfort in the temperature change. "Whoever this Zasha kid is, he knows how to make a deck stand out."

"If that's how you want to phrase it," the teacher replied. "This deck is balanced, but I'm skeptical about it being able to function against some of the decks that we have circulating in those students. It's hard to imagine he could win with a deck like this."

"Twenty monsters and only three of them have abilities," I said, already having searched through the deck. "And two of them are the same monster. Running a Normalcy Deck isn't something that people tend to recommend to beginner players, so he's been battling for at least a few years, in my opinion. Normal monsters can be played in one of two ways; straight beat down where you use the overwhelming power of the monster to force your opponent into submission, or you could simply use low level monsters and specific magic and trap cards to overpower them and go in for long, outstanding duels. Zasha's is obviously a beat down deck. All of the cards in there either have 1800 attack points or more, or no less than 2000 defense points," I explained, looking down at him once more to make sure he was doing okay. "Go warm a bath for him."

With that, the teacher bowed and left the room with just me and Zasha, wondering what we were going to do with him. He still wasn't awake, but he was peaceful, so I knew it wouldn't be worth it to wake him up and begin questioning him. Instead, I waited for him to be ready.

* * *

Unknowingly, I fell asleep about an hour later as I instantly jerked my head up into an alert position, quickly looking over at Zasha, only to find he was gone. I frantically began looking for him all around the room, my bad leg not serving me any good as I continually leaned on my walking stick to keep me up, knowing that his belongings were still there. He couldn't have gotten too far, and as I turned around to look down the hallway, I almost sprinted down it. About halfway down the way, I passed a small figure who bowed to me, to which I did the same.

"Hold up!" I shouted, turning around, seeing that the young boy did the same; his grey eyes and small build staring at me as relief washed over my entire body. "Where did you go?"

"Bath," he answered; even his words could chill the room.

Zasha Ivankov was a boy I never forgot even now when it seems I don't have much time left. Even if he wasn't from Japan, his basic height was like someone indicative of this culture, seeing as fourteen isn't really that young. He stood at about five foot three, a slight build, most likely from the fact he hadn't eaten much in the past few days, with skin as pale and near white as the snow falling outside. His hair was a golden blond color, mostly well-kept, falling to about eye level, parting as it reached down to the grey iris, and falling down the sides of his head and neck. But his eyes, they were what you couldn't help but look at; dead in emotion, and cold in gaze, as if they were infused with the frozen tundra of Siberia. From the way he was dressed, it was no wonder he was near frozen; he wore a long sleeved black shirt underneath a white, short sleeved jacket with yellow accents on the sleeves and collar, a pair of dark colored cargo jeans held up by a loosely fit belt, and a pair of black running shoes.

"How did you survive out there for so long dressed like that?" I asked as he stared at me with that vacant expression, but it was obvious there was something about him.

"No choice," he said, again, with enough cold behind me to freeze a furnace.

"What do you mean no choice?" I asked. He didn't answer that one; this boy was so intriguing, I knew I had to have him stay. "So where do you plan to go from here?"

"Nowhere," he answered. "Here."

"You heard me and the other teacher talking about keeping you here?" I asked as he nodded. "You know I can't let just anyone stay here. Do you know what kind of place this is?" I asked as he nodded again, looking up at the high ceilings, and then to the paintings along the walls depicting some of the more famous of the Duel Monsters cards.

"Haven," Zasha answered, walking back to the infirmary where all of things were being kept.

"_Haven?"_ I questioned, following the young Russian boy, seeing his walking stance actually fairly strong as he walked towards the back room, as though he had never collapsed. _"I never thought of this place as a paradise or an escape from anywhere, but I guess everyone has their own opinion of something."_

As we both entered the infirmary, I could see him walk directly to his deck, placing his hand on it as though he were trying to draw something out of it, a certain atmosphere beginning to grow out of him. It wasn't a deck I expected to see out of anyone ever, with such a stranger notion to it, but for some reason it was precious to him. And that was all that was going to matter, that it was precious to _him_, not me, not his best friend, rival, enemy, or family. It was his deck, and that's all that was going to matter. As he reached inside of his pocket, Zasha pulled out a small necklace, looking more like a choker with a silver cross attached to the end. He closed his eyes and a warm expression came to his face as he clipped the rosary onto his neck.

"When?" he asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" I questioned, seeing him clutch his deck as I nodded in understanding. "Oh, you're probably going duel tomorrow when I find a student who'd be willing to test you on your ability. This isn't a pass or fail exam, so if you lose it doesn't mean you can't stay here. I wish you luck, Mr. Ivankov."

"Zasha," he corrected, still as cold as ever, but I knew what he meant. "Spasibo," he said; one of the few Russian words I knew. It meant "thank you." In a long time, I hadn't heard that word in any language. I knew that having Zasha as part of my school would be the best thing that would happen to me, and hopefully there would be others to share in my joy.

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Characters:

Zasha Ivankov (Normalcy Deck): NightFall00

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Notes:

Crucifix Necklace: As most people are aware of by this point, crucifixes and rosaries are the symbol of Christ in Catholicism and Christianity. Before the crucifixion of Christ, it was seen as the worst possible torture that a person could endure, but it was only reserved for non-Roman citizens. After Christ was nailed to the cross, it became a symbol of the sacrifice he made for his people, and for the generations to follow. Most people who share this belief will wear this symbol as a necklace, and from that you can tell that Zasha is a "religious" man. I don't like the word religious because I've believed in God for close to twenty, I prefer faithful. This is a pattern with me, for those of you that are new to my stories whenever I make a Russian character. All three of them, two in my pokémon collections, and this one, have been identified as Russian Orthodox, which is the main belief of Russian people, a branch of Christianity. I won't say it's going to be a major theme, but it will be a sub-plot for Zasha's character.

Russian Names: Those of you who have read my VGC story from Pokémon already know a little bit about this, but for those of you who are new, this is the basic use of Russian names. The Russian language, like any Romance and European language has specific genders assigned to nouns, and Russian is the easiest to decipher. Whereas in French, the gender is ambiguous, depending on how it ends, the word will be male, female, neuter, or plural in Russian. Consonants indicate male nouns, "a" and "ya" indicates female, "o" "e" "ye" and "yo" indicate neuter, and "i" indicates plural. The fact that Zasha's name ends with an "a" means he does have a female connotation, but unlike some my other Russian characters, it won't be a major thing. I chose Zasha because of the meaning, "Defender of the People." Cliché, but people seem to like that.

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Okay, prologue done. Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry I couldn't get into the duel this time around, but it will be the bulk of the next chapter, so if you want to stick around, be my guest. The OC form for this story will be on my profile, and please know I have a very limited number of spots. This is going to be the smallest amount I've ever accepted, totaling at five other characters based on the amount of people that subscribed to my other story. We'll see how it goes, and I can't wait to hear from you guys about how I did. Well, good bye, and until we meet again, ja na.


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